


A Field of Daffodils

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Death of a Parent, F/M, Other, Unresolved grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 05:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21173918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: Prompt: When they were told Narcissa didn't have much longer, Draco tried to hold it together to be there for her, but there was no way.





	A Field of Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the mods and creators of the UnHappily Ever After Fest. This was a nice way to tap into the sadder side of fanfiction, with zero expectations of a happy ending. 
> 
> And an even bigger thank you to ravenslight for going over this with a fine-toothed comb and acting as a last-minute beta! I am most grateful to you!

**A Field of Daffodils**

_ “I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but long-term exposure to the Dark Arts has caused her magical core, and with it her very life force, to wither. There’s nothing more we can do for her, other than to keep her as comfortable as possible.” _

The Healer’s sentiment echoed through Draco’s mind as he sat alongside his mother’s bed. Since she had collapsed in the garden nearly a week prior, his entire being had been consumed with the need for her to recover. The Healer’s words had shattered any hope he had of his mother ever returning to her former self. With his father as good as dead after the Dementor’s kiss, Narcissa had been the rock that Draco had clung to while trying to navigate a post-war world. 

His eyes raw with the constant flow of tears he’d experienced in the days prior, he swept a tentative gaze over her weakened frame. Once a regal and stately woman, aglow with elegance and aristocratic class, her luminescence had dulled. Her skin had paled to grey and any ounce of healthy fat that had once filled her in diminished, leaving her sunken and skeletal. Her eyes were closed, retracted slightly into the blackened orbital sockets, her lips dry and cracked. He reached a hand to cover her skeletal one, wishing he knew how to fix this, how to fix  _ her _ .

A soft knock sounded at the door, and he heard Pansy’s soft footfall as she came to stand behind him. She was fresh from the shower, her hands smooth as she gave the nape of Draco’s neck a gentle squeeze. “Draco, love, come to bed.”

When her hand slipped over his shoulder and she rested her chin atop his head, Draco slid his free hand up to cover hers. Absently playing with the large engagement ring that rested on her ring finger, he bit the inside of his cheek. “I can’t leave her, Pans. What if she—what if…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“I’m not certain you should be here to watch that,” Pansy replied, kissing the top of his head and running her nose along his cornsilk hair. “This is hard enough for you already.”

Pansy had been there for Draco since he was a scant little tot still in nappies. His confidant, his best friend, now his lover and fiancée. She loved Narcissa as her own mother, and he knew his mother had always been eager for her to join the Malfoy family. But there were some things Pansy couldn’t possibly fathom. Both of her parents were alive and well, frequently spending weekends hosting the young couple. Though she’d tried to give Potter over to the Dark Lord, her family had no real ties to the megalomaniac and therefore no shady or infamous legacy to overcome. The one person Pansy loved most in the world wasn’t lying in front of her, deteriorating at an other-worldly speed. 

“I can’t leave her,” Draco whispered, his hand clutching his mother’s fragile claw. 

Pansy came around him, pulling her night robe closed tight as she ran her fingers over Narcissa’s limp fringe. A bit of wandless magic and a chaise appeared parallel to the bed. “At least lie down and rest your eyes. There’s no point to keeping constant watch on her. When the time comes, you’ll know.”

With that, Pansy placed a hand in the crook of his elbow and pulled him into a standing position. She slipped off his suit coat, an act that was normally done with passion and now only with pity. Draco had succumbed to a grief so strong that his witch had to undress him. She draped his coat over the chair he’d emptied and pointed down at his shoes. Toeing them off, he sat on the edge of the chaise and took a few steadying breaths. 

Pansy sat next to him, running a soothing hand over his back as she dabbed at the corners of her own eyes. As breaths rattled up through Narcissa’s windpipe, Draco dropped his head to rest on Pansy’s shoulder. Her clean scent soothed him infinitesimally, though his tears filled the hollow of her collarbone. “This is all my father’s fault,” he choked, bitter bile biting at his throat.

Draco had never fully forgiven his father for bringing the Dark Lord into their lives. His own childhood had been ripped from him, and the Dark magic had infiltrated his very thoughts until he felt as though he would buckle and welcome death by his own hand. The exposure to pure evil had brought along nightmares, fear, and a crippling desolation that had very nearly ruined Draco Malfoy.

Through it all, his mother had been by his side, trying to shield him from as much death and destruction as she could. If he closed his eyes, he could hear her screams as the Dark Lord entered her mind, searching with a piercing forcefulness for her husband’s deception. The Darkness had hung stagnant over them—a foul, acrid stench that roiled the stomach and rattled the bones. 

Little did he know that it would cost him even more, all these years later. His whole world, the only person who ever battled the forces of the world for his protection, was crumbling right before his very eyes. 

The walls were closing in, the air in his mother’s bedchamber growing oppressively heavy. His throat began constricting, and he couldn’t draw a full breath as panic overtook him. “I’ve got to get out of here. I need to  _ breathe _ .”

Pansy startled at his change and nodded dumbly as he stood and swept toward the door, trying to stifle down the vomit that rose rapidly. “I’ll stay here,” he heard Pansy’s quiet declaration as the door swung open and he strode quickly toward the stairs. 

His legs took on the consistency of jam as he tried to make his way down the Manor’s grandiose staircase, and he wobbled, one stair at a time, as his vision began to blacken around the edges. It took everything in him to reach the door leading into the gardens without fainting or vomiting. 

The gardens were dark, the moon covered in thick clouds overhead. In an effort to simplify and beautify their lives, his mother had cleared out the labyrinth of flowers and plants and had created one large flower-covered fountain. The blooms were largely withered and dead in the absence of their caregiver, the fountain water cloudy and musty. Coming to rest on the stone base of the fountain, Draco waved his wand over his shoulder, reviving the flowers the best he could.

Enamored with her namesake, Narcissa had a half empty bag of narcissus flower bulbs—buttery yellow daffodils—resting against the side of the nearby greenhouse. Draco conjured a flock of birds, a handy trick he’d heard of Granger formulating in sixth year, and looked up at the twittering group of canaries. “Take the daffodil seeds and spread them as far and wide as you can over the grounds.”

The magical birds each gave a chirp of acknowledgment, one nipping at his shoulder before they took flight. From where he sat, Draco tore through the bag, spilling the bulbs across the pavement as the canaries descended. The cool air swirled in his lungs, burning as he fought to breathe through the grief that wracked him. The Manor loomed in the night, now a mausoleum for his mother’s weakening body. 

A pop sounded in the distance, and, as the clouds parted ever so slightly, the moonlight illuminated the silhouette of a flower rising out of the ground and raising its face toward the sky. Knowing he should return to his mother inside, Draco found himself entirely too intrigued by the expedited growth of the bud to return to her side just yet. He drew some comfort in the fact that Pansy was keeping vigil over her and stood to saunter towards the flower, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

o-o-o

Pansy awoke to a stream of light falling over her face. She’d remained up late into the night, running a soothing hand over Narcissa’s face and hands. Opening her eyes one at a time, swollen from days of weeping, she took in the brisk iciness of the room. She knew instantly that Draco was not with them, that he’d never returned after his swift departure. Having fallen asleep with her head resting on the bedside, Pansy leaned up and her gaze fell on Narcissa’s limp body. 

Upon the bed lay the once-graceful and composed witch, her mouth open and her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. With a sharp gasp that constricted her throat, Pansy leant up to close the Malfoy matriarch’s eyes as her tears splashed over the pallid skin of Narcissa’s face. “Drac-o,” she hiccuped, hefting handfuls of her robes so that she could move quicker.

“Draco! Where are you?” 

She broke into a frantic jog as she called out for him, repeating  _ Homenum Revelio!  _ desperately as she entered each room. Running past the glass door that led to the back garden, a swath of colour caught her eye. Pansy backed up and stood at the door, her mouth falling slack as she took in the sight before her. 

As far as her eyes could see, along the rolling plains of the Manor’s gardens, thousands of bright yellow daffodils fanned out, a sunny blanket against the lilac and rose of the morning sky. She pushed the door open, a soft breeze playing at the billows of her robe as she took a few tentative steps onto the pavement. Pansy felt lively and light magic billow past—a wild, untamed ebb and flow that danced about her legs

Draco stood, perhaps a couple dozen metres away, his face raised plaintively toward the sky. She could hear his soft sobs, carried on the breath of the wind, as he spread his arms and ran his fingertips over the silky petals of the flowers around his thighs. 

Pansy clasped a hand over her mouth, silencing her own whimpers of grief as her heart broke for the man before her. He was unaware of her presence, lost in his own downward spiral of emotions as he was. 

Certainly not for the first time in their lives, Pansy felt helpless in her pursuit to keep him safe. But this time? This time there was no way out of the nightmare. Narcissa Malfoy was gone, her spirit sprouting up in the form of a thousand tiny reminders of her brilliant presence.

o-o-o

  
  



End file.
